


The Marionette

by discoveringrosie



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alt Rock, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Addiction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Fame, M/M, Music, Protective Arthur, Punk Rock, famous merlin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4409579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discoveringrosie/pseuds/discoveringrosie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin Emrys is a hugely successful punk rock artist who lives under the control of his manipulative manager. When Merlin's drug habit becomes a public scandal it attracts the attention of Arthur Pendragon, the CEO of a well known tabloid website. Somehow love ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi,  
> This is going to be a muti chapter fic. I don't know exactly where it's headed as I am writing it as it comes to me. I hope you like it, whatever "it" turns out to be. (also its not betaed)

The world looks blurry when he opens his eyes. The sheets look tousled but he feels as though he has never known the oblivion of sleep. ‘Blurry’ is as close as he has ever gotten.  
“Get up” they tell him. He does. The desk by the window looks like an old friend. The surface is empty but pen marks carved into the wooden surface melt together and shift like the smoke of time. It has no business in this soulless place. The chair which accompanies the misfit desk is expensive leather. He doesn’t care. He just feels the cold burst of air it releases when he sits down.The sky outside the window looks like a chalk board. He finds himself, hands scrambling across the desk, trying to find a piece of chalk with which to write lists among the clouds. _What do you have to write that is worthy of heaven?_ He asks himself. No one answers.  
They put a black mug in front of him and a thin piece of paper. He picks up the mug. It feels heavy and the dark liquid looks to be of a similar consistency to tar. The rim feels like fire against his lips but the steaming liquid tumbles down his throat smoothly. It's not until it starts to settle warmly in his gut does he remember he has missed it.  
Shapes cluster around the desk and slowly come into focus. Bright eyes peer at him from veiled faces. He recognises the electricity of caffeine and voices begin to pour into his mind as if on a breeze. He jumps when a hand bearing painted pink claws appears centimeters from his face and snaps its blade like fingers.  
“Merlin?” She sounds concerned but he can see the hardness in her eyes, he hears the clipped tone of her voice. It takes a few moments of dumbfounded blinking to remember her name.  
“Morning Nim,” he murmurs through cement lips. Her biting blue eyes roll around in their sockets and he feels dizzy for a moment. Without responding she flails her other arm behind her and a figure in black hands her a bottle. She efficiently pulls the top off and shakes several pills into her hand. They look like eyes, the way they glare at him and point. One by one, with two fingers, he pops them into his mouth and dry swallows. When her hand is empty he feels as though his tongue has been inflated to fill his mouth. Has she muted him? He takes a swig of tar and clears his throat. Nimueh waits tapping her foot on the dark wood floor.  
“Do you remember what happened last night Merlin?” she asks sharply. She must see last night’s blank slate in his eyes because she goes on, not waiting for an answer.  
“The show, Merlin. Your show” He moves his shoulder up slightly and her lips thin into a red line, trembling slightly with exasperation and stubborn rage at her wasted time.  
“Do you remember what happened, why we had to cut the show Merlin?” He may be...fuzzy but he still knows when Nimueh is treating him like a ten year old. He shrugs again, annoyed. She sighs as though he is missing something painfully obvious.  
Waving her hand again behind her, another attendee appears, this time with a silver laptop. She shoves it into his lap and hits the spacebar with such violence he wonders if she has broken it. The images on the screen capture his attention before he can continue his thought. The camerawork is shaky. He recognises a video taken with a cell phone. In spite of the poor sound quality and general graininess anyone could tell the man on the screen was him.  
The bright lights of the stage behind him make his face look dark, almost gaunt. The camera person is close enough to see the red splotches on his cheeks and the glazed over quality of his eyes. His shadowed counterpart holds a microphone to his lips and the laptop emits the tinny melody of his most popular song. Although loud and energetic, his own voice seems empty and vacant. There is no person beneath the words. The puppet onstage, pumping his fist into the sky emits a long stream of breath into the cold air. Merlin feels as though he is separated from himself entirely. They are separate people. The man on stage, and the man sitting where he is now. A long lost friend perhaps but the voice is definitely not his own. The spastic movements on stage are not ones his own body has ever made. And yet, the glowing banner lit up with lights is flashing _his_ name, and his alone, with unthinkable brightness.  
The puppet shakes his head back and forth to the drum beat. A marionette, made slave to his music. His own lyrics are drowned out by the crowd’s frenzied rendition. The puppet comes to the edge of the stage and he raises his arms to the crowd, a salute. Suddenly his words are cut off. The crowd does not seem to notice however, until the microphone clatters from his hand and onto the stage emitting a vibrating shreak. The camera shakes violently as the person behind it attempts to cover their ears. The puppet onstage makes no move to pick up the fallen mic but simply continues to address the crowd as if he has not noticed the sudden quiet. His lips ramble on unheard and the puppet’s hands remain outstretched. Even on the screen of the laptop he can see his own arms tremble like he his being electrocuted. After a few drawn out seconds the puppets strings are cut and he tumbles to the stage floor. The camera jerks upwards to capture a flash of clear night sky and a wave of people surging forward towards the sage before the screen cuts to black.  
Nimueh slams the laptop closed and Merlin gingerly picks it up and places it on the desk. Although she had obviously seen it before, this viewing has clearly awoken a new level of anger. She leans in and grips the arm rest with her painted claws. Her breath smells like cigarette smoke and mouth wash.  
“You overdosed Merlin. You fucking OD’ed on stage in front of sixty thousand people.” Her voice gets louder and louder. Behind her Merlin can see the dark clothed attendees retreating into another room.  
“What did you fucking take Merlin?” She pauses and suddenly, her voice is a concerned whisper “Merlin,” she pries her hand off the armrest and places it on his cheek. He almost recoils from its cold clamminess. His eyes flicker down to the indent left in the leather and then back up to hers where they spark and fizz inches from his face.  
“I know you have a drug problem, M. It’s not something that you're hiding as well as you think you are.” He tries to speak but she leans in even further. He holds in his words.  
“You’re lucky Merlin. Lucky we were able to get you to the hospital so fast. We were able to get you out before sunrise this morning.” She points to the laptop on the desk.  
“That, Merlin, is not so lucky.” He braces himself but still jumps when she shrieks and swipes the computer off the desk. It falls to the floor and shatters.  
“Half a million views, Merlin. And it’s only been four hours” She would have continued if the phone had not started ringing.  
“Miss, um, sorry to interrupt,” Merlin is saved by a chubby, nervous looking intern. “Its just that Arthur Pendragon is on the line.”  
Nimueh’s eyes widen slightly.  
“Well then were all fucked.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, it was a bitch to write. Hope you like it:)

“Are you okay?” He sees red first. The backs of his eye lids. The piercing siren that comes with sudden stabs of light pulsates in and out for a few moments.   
“Are you okay?” Louder this time. He can feel a hand on his chest. Hesitant fingers nudge against his ribs as if she expects him to lash out and strike. The pressure releases and soft foot steps pad away. Seconds later, the red light darkens and the painful screech fades. He opens his eyes slowly and is greeted by a warm smile, hesitant, but warm.   
Gwen stands in her kitten heels and twists her hair around her finger. She bites her lip but knows better than to say a word. He doesn't say anything either. They have learned how to deal with one another. Pity-filled stares and gruff tolerance have been his world for the past two months.  
Arthur tries to sit up but the sound rings in his ears. He can feel his brain rattling. Gwen rushes forward with a mug. He can smell Coffee but wishes it were something stronger. He reaches out, arms heavier than they should be. He is used to the hangover but he can see the time glowing, luminescent and piercing on the bedside table. Gwen knows better than to wake him this early, unless…  
“Something happened didn’t it?” his own voice sounds less confident than he would like it to. Gwen shifts her weight from foot to foot, not speaking.   
“Gwen, tell me if something happened otherwise I’m going back to sleep.” He lets his head fall back against the pillow. The smell of vomit and sex ripple from the fabric in waves. A smell which no longer bothers, although he still hears his father’s disapproving voice in his head. Gwen takes a breath. Arthur can practically hear the gears in her head churning.   
“Arthur I- I'm not really sure how to- um it’s just that, he called.” Her voice is so quiet that he has to lift his ear off the pillow in order to hear her properly. At the conclusion of her stuttered confession he pulls his body immediately and abruptly from sleep.   
“He wants to see me? Now?” He sits up in bed. Gwen backs up slightly, surprised by his sudden burst of energy. She nods slowly and Arthur Leaps from the bed.   
Gwen blushes when a red lace bra tumbles free of the sheets and lands on the floor next to his own clothes, it had been shed, no doubt, the night before in a haze of intoxicated lust. She averts her eyes from Arthur’s naked form as he gets to his feet. Reaching forward instinctually to grab hold of his hands as he sways in a fit of dizziness. Arthur hisses like a snake at her touch and jerks away. She turns her gaze to the floor and shuffles back a few steps. He brings the coffee to his dry lips and downs it in one swig. He doesn't pause before hurdling around the room, pulling on various articles of clothing at random. When he stands, finally still, before Gwen in blue jeans and a button-down the clock on the bed side table reads 5:21. She attempts a smile and reaches forward to pluck a feather from the collar of his shirt. Arthur pulls back once more and pushes forcefully past her into the kitchen beyond. Stainless steel surfaces wink angrily at him from every direction. Hangover still in full force, he takes a moment to balance himself before noticing a sheet of paper on the otherwise pristine countertop. Not recognizing the handwriting as his own or Gwen’s he attributes it to the nameless blonde who had undoubtedly snuck out only a few minutes before he had awoken, the bra owner no doubt. Without reading it, Arthur takes the note in hand crumpling it and tossing it in the general direction of the trash bin.   
He shoves the empty coffee mug into an already overflowing sink and marches out the door, Gwen trailing behind him. As he descends the stairs a black car rounds the corner. He climbs in the back seat and shuffles to the far side to make room for Gwen. The driver does not waste time with greetings as he pulls efficiently out into the street.   
“Visiting hours don’t start for a while Arthur” Gwen attempts to reason with him. He glares at her for a moment before barking at the driver to hurry and pulling a pair of headphones from his pocket. Once they are firmly in place and Metallica is pounding his brain into submission his shoulders begin to relax and he allows his thoughts to wander beyond the car as it races along the empty freeway.   
What would he have thought, Arthur mused. Always nagging always determined and yet fair, unwaveringly fair. If he could see Arthur’s life now what guidance would he offer. His own father would be ashamed no doubt. He would say that the company was falling behind, that Arthur himself was not up to the standard that he had set. A standard which, up until two months ago he believed was strong, bullet proof even.   
“We deal in the business of truth Arthur,” he used to say, “Truth always finds the light,”  
lying bastard Arthur thinks to himself. The old man wouldn’t own up to the truth if his life depended on it.   
As the view outside the window shifts from city scape to grey flat country side the tightness in Arthurs shoulders returns tenfold. Gwen sits silently next to him. She is as much of a victim in this as he is. He wants to comfort her, to be the companion they both needed. Bad memories shrouded in anger and his fathers heavy, expensive cologne stop him at every attempt.   
After what feels like far too short a time, looming white signs and barbwire crested fences shadow the car, making Arthur feel as though he is being pressed down into the ground, voice silenced, lungs crushed.   
Black lettering on a block-like building commands his attention. STONE GUARD CRIMINAL BARRACKS. Criminal, he had never thought of it that way. Tears well in his eyes before he can stop them but he forces himself to stay composed. The fucker deserves whatever comes to him.   
The car pulls to a stop outside a set of double doors. Gwen gets out on her side first and pulls his door open for him. Taking a shaky breath Arthur rises from his seat and allows Gwen to lead him in through a metal door marked visitors entrance. A sleepy looking guard greets them just inside. Without pausing to look up, he points to a sign on a nearby wall detailing the visiting hours, which do not start until 1:00pm. Arthur steps right up to the window and peers though the smudged glass until the guard looks up at him. Arthur clenches his jaw and watches as recognition floods into the man’s face. Looking slightly more aware than before he splutters and gasps for a few moments still pointing to the sign. Arthur sighs and pulls a hundred dollar bill from his pocket slamming it up against the glass and sending a vibrating echo around the room. The guard jumps up and rushes out of his office pulling a ring of keys from his belt as he does so. Arthur slips the bill under the glass for the guard to collect later. Once unlocked the guard turns from the door to usher Arthur and Gwen through.   
“R-right this way M-Mr Pendragon,” He says, voice filled with nasally hesitation. Arthur walks past smoothly not letting his fear show. He does his best to concentrate on the swish of his companions uniformed pants and the click-clack of Gwen’s heals on the cold linoleum. They are lead though a maze of identical passageways lined by metal doorways, identical accept for the thick black line of ink marking the separate cell blocks. They pass block after block, delving deeper and deeper into the recesses of the prison. Arthur can't hear the inmates talking in their respective cells or banging on the bars that separate them from freedom, but he can picture the ghosts of people shut away, identities stolen, lives suspended and nothing left to guide them but their thoughts. Arthur is haunted by the image of his father leering out from behind prison bars, no amount of money and prestige would keep him safe here.   
Click-clack, swish-swish. He deserves it, Arthur tells himself   
He collects his thoughts, forces his eyes to go blank, his mouth to press into a thin line. his eyes flick up to meet Gwen’s. Her silent question Are you ok, makes him feel sick. Just as his hands begin to shake with pent up emotion the guard stops dead in his tracks, swishing steps silenced. He pulls another key from his pocket and within seconds the door is open. It takes Arthur a moment to put the pieces together. The word infirmary scrawled in black above the door and the rows of hospital beds shrouded in white.   
The thoughts that had crowed his head drift away as if his life no longer matters. Arthur’s eyes zero in on the man at the end of the long row of beds. All the anger and resentment he felt toward his father seem cruel and unnecessary when he sees him.   
“Dad,” he chokes out. His body moves without his permission. His feet stumble forward and Arthur can do nothing but watch his father’s desperately small form grow closer. He is dimly aware of Gwen behind him as she draws in a surprised gasp. His father opens his bloodshot eyes and looks his son up and down before opening his mouth to speak. Instead a blood curdling cough wrenches its was up Uther’s fragile body. Arthur springs into action. Before he knows whats happened he is kneeling by his fathers bedside, fistful of napkins in hand, trying to wipe a trickle of blood from the corner of Uther’s mouth. He puts his hand on his father’s stubbly face for a moment before his eyes dart up to Uther’s. He draws his hand away when he recognizes the look of shame in his eyes.   
“What’s happening to you?” Arthur whispers, hardly recognizing his own voice.   
“Always so tactful,” Uther wheezes. Arthur can see him fight to hold on to the dignity he always wore around him like a coat. His father raises a hand to his face. Arthur tries to ignore its shaking.   
“They found a tumor my second week here,” Arthur feels his eyes well with tears and his hand folds over his father’s where it rests against his face.   
“I didn't want you to-” Uther’s body was crushed once more by a wave of coughing. Arthur let a few sobs loose from his tight chest keenly aware of Gwen’s hand on his shoulder. He wants to shake it off but he wants to spare his father the pain of seeing childhood friends torn asunder.   
“Why?” Arthur almost screams, stoping him, “Why did you keep it from me for so long.” Arthurs voice grows still louder. He feels Gwen’s hand tighten into a vise. “I’de have—I would have come sooner. We can still get a doctor,” He tries to turn his head to tell Gwen to phone all the best cancer specialists in London, to make miracles rain from the sky but his father’s suddenly firm voice stops him.   
“No Arthur,” He hangs on every word. “Theres no time. I asked you to come not because I have to tell you something. I don't have much time left. I—I can feel it.” Arthur wants to stop him, to tell I'm that he is wrong, not to loose hope, there is still time, there has to be, but Uther presses on.   
“He was going to kill you. I did what I did because he said he was going to kill you,” Arthur wants to scream. Questions race though his mind at lightning speed. No response seems adequate for the news his father has delivered.   
“Oh god,” is all Arthur can manage “I thought he knew something about us, about the company. He told be he knew everything.”   
Arthur feels the memory envelop him. Hot breath on his face, back pressed uncomfortably against the stone wall, whispered threats and a charade to fool everyone. He told Arthur he knew secrets about the PenDragon that would lose them the company. Uther’s company, one that was forged with the truth. Well no, not entirely, but Arthur and his father had both seen fit to ignore the non truths. Lies told and rumors spread by Arthur, by his father. Secrets Arthur knew needed to stay secret. He never expected Uther to kill someone to protect The Dragon. But no…He hadn't after all. That bastard Cendred had made threats to more than just Arthur.   
“He said he would kill me?” Arthur asks waiting for it to sink in. Uther nods feebly, gratitude making his eyes shine.   
“What do I do?” Arthur asks, hoping his father will tell him how to live his life, how to save himself, he expects a shovel to dig himself out of the hole they both dug.   
“Publish truth,” Uther says instead. “Real truth, not those lies we used to print. Lies are what got us into this mess.” Arthur nods and Uther starts wheezing and coughing again. Arthur hovers above him, not sure what to do.   
Behind him he hears Gwen’s phone ring. She tries to hand it to him. He shakes her off, not caring if Uther sees.   
“What do you need?” He's frantic now. His fathers convulsing body makes his heart rate triple. He feels like he's going to pass out. His father meets his eyes and the world seems to fade around him.   
“Go,” Uther whispers. Arthur does. He grabs the phone out of Gwen’s hand and turns to face the door. A team of nurses in pink smocks burst though and hurry past him chattering to each other about cardiovascular fluctuations. Arthur is too dumbstruck to understand what they mean. Gwen leads him through the doors and the guard bounces to attention. Arthur notices the phone in his hand for the first time and holds it to his hear as they continue the long march down the prison corridor.   
“Hello, hellooo,” The voice on the other end seems fake. It takes Arthur a moment to process.   
“Gwain,” Arthur says finally, attempting to sound formal and business like.   
“Oh thank fuck mate” Gwain’s usual foulmouthed greeting shakes Arthur from his state of shock.  
“What do you need Gwain, you surviving without me?” Arthur attempts to joke but his jibe falls flat.   
Gwain doesn't pause for a moment “That kid Emrys, he's gone and fucked up bad Arthur. There have been drug rumors for a while but they've just been confirmed. God you have to see this video,” He sounds almost giddy. “ We've got a story Arthur, the best goddamn story in years if you ask me,”   
Arthur remembers his fathers voice in his head publish truth. He feels a smile spread across his face.   
“We’ll pursue the Emrys story.” He waits for Gwain’s whop of excitement before continuing.   
“And Gwain, I’m going to head this one,” Gwain laughs his assent into the phone and Arthur hangs up with a flick of his wrist.   
“Gwen, get Emrys’ manager on the line we've got work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment with thoughts and suggestions if you liked it. Thank you for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are greatly loved and cherished. Any questions or tips are also welcome.


End file.
